


'Tis the Season for Gift-Giving

by pinchess07



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, Fluff, Graves Lives, I might have accidentally made a tsundere!Graves, It worked out well in the end, M/M, Matchmaking shenanigans from those two blasted Goldsteins, Prompt Fill, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:20:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8995510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinchess07/pseuds/pinchess07
Summary: For this fantastic prompt on the km: So Graves is trying to court Newt and it's kind of going .... weirdly?Like Graves brings Newt a present and Newt is all "This is exactly what I needed, thank you!" and the next thing Graves knows the expensive scarf he just bought Newt is being ruined used to bind the wounds of Newt's latest injured beast. But Graves keeps at it though because, technically, Newt is encouraging his courtship by accepting the gifts even if the presents aren't being used the way they were originally intended.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'ed.

It starts with a scarf.

See, Percival Graves has noticed that Newt Scamander was partial to a gray and yellow striped scarf. Newt behaves more confidently when it is hanging from his neck, more willing to make eye contact. He is less likely to ramble on when he speaks.

And yet, the scarf itself is nothing special. The design is simple. It looks old and worn and soft. It looks threadbare when Percival carefully (and sneakily) examines it. He admits that he was curious about it, this scarf that Newt so loves. Because Newt does. The scarf is clean, and smells like soap and Newt's subtle but distinctive scent.

No, he is not sniffing it like a-- a creepy stalker. He hastily sets it down, lest Newt return unexpectedly fast from the john. He is not blushing. And the tips of his ears are not pink at all, your eyes must be playing tricks on you. It's probably the low light and the musty smell and the general seedy impression that this particular speakeasy gives off. Once again, he wonders why Newt chose this particular location for a date.

He takes another look around-- a shifty-looking guy on the right, three shifty-looking guys on the far left, a very shifty-looking barman that wasn't paying him any undue attention, Newt still nowhere in sight.

He slips out his wand and casts _Specialis Revelio_ on the unsuspecting scarf, and nothing. The scarf is utterly normal. It is just a scarf. He tucks his wand away, disappointed.

Newt returns from the john not much later, looking nervous about something, but once he reaches their table and wraps the scarf around his neck, he visibly relaxes. His gaze darts around, assessing everything and everyone around them, much like Percival did earlier.

"Shall we go?" Newt asks, looking at him intently. Percival nods, confused. They hadn't even gotten to ordering drinks. Newt drops his gaze and beelines to the exit, and Percival follows in his wake. Once they're outside, Newt exhales loudly. He looks both relieved and disappointed, and Percival gets the feeling that he's missing something. Something big.

"It's almost time to feed the mooncalves," Newt remarks, before Percival can think any further on it.

"Oh," Percival breathes out. Was this Newt's way of politely cutting their date short? Before he could ask, Newt continues speaking.

"Would you like to come?" He says with an inviting smile.

_Oh Mercy Lewis, yes! Preferably in your ass--_

Then Percival remembers who Newt is, and realizes there's no way Newt meant that in the way that Percival wanted it to mean. He forcibly pulls his mind out of the gutter and accepts Newt's offer before it is rescinded.

The evening is not a complete loss, not when he spent most of it in Newt's presence. Even if Newt didn't kiss him goodbye or anything. Not that he was waiting for a kiss, goodbye or otherwise. If he didn't think Newt would be spooked, he'd gladly kiss the man senseless against the nearest surface. He wasn't the kind to stay passive, wasn't the kind to wait, but he is firmly of the opinion that Newt is worth it.

Anyway, that was the night he decided that Newt's scarf was way too ordinary. Surely he could find a better one for Newt.

He mentions this to his tailor, Colleen. Colleen squeals excitably, which he expected, then assures him that she had just the thing, which he did not. He thought it would take more time than this to find a perfect courting gift for Newt, but he trusts Colleen. She manages his wardrobe, after all.

She comes back with a scarf in her arms and he falls in love with it instantly. It is black, with a glittering metallic thread woven through it so that every move makes it shimmer faintly. And it has the yellow outline of an animated wampus on it. When prodded, the wampus huffs and yowls at him. It moves to a spot on the other side of the scarf, presumably away from poking fingers.

The next week, Newt invites him shyly and in rambling sentences, for another date, which is a minor miracle in Percival's opinion. Goldstein, who is watching not at all subtly in the corner, probably had something to do with it. Goldstein had become something along the lines of a best friend (and a partner in crime) to Newt, and if she is encouraging Newt to make a move, then Percival wholeheartedly approves.

Percival smiles and agrees to the date, noting how Newt flushes beautifully. He also notes that Newt was not wearing his usual scarf, which most likely accounted for the way Newt had stammered when asking him out earlier.

Newt brings him to the same seedy bar. Was this also Goldstein's fault? If so, Percival is going to drop a few recommendations of better establishments when they next speak.

Newt is distractedly glancing around the place, so Percival herds him to a somewhat secluded table with a gentle hand on Newt's back. So they could have a little privacy. Not that he was planning on doing something, anything, here. There were much better places for the things he wanted to do to Newt. And he didn't much like having an audience, especially the audience in this bar. They seemed extra shifty and suspicious today.

Newt was also more nervous than the last time they were here. Percival attributes it to the lack of a scarf on Newt's neck, and before he consciously thinks about it, he has placed the wampus scarf, now gift-wrapped in the same blue color of Newt's coat, on the table between them.

"This is, um, for me? What for? It's not my birthday. Or Christmas. Um, I can't think of any other occasion..." Newt says, hesitantly touching it.

"I saw it and I thought it would be perfect for you," Percival states. "Go on, open it."

Newt does, carefully opening the wrapper. This man, Percival thinks, perhaps he hasn't received that many gifts, and as a result, didn't rip the paper off carelessly like people normally do. His long, slender fingers deceitfully hid his strength, and his hands were more at home with nurturing instead of destroying, and Percival loves him for it.

Newt gasps in surprise and awe upon seeing the scarf. Percival knows the first thing he would see was the wampus, and the wampus was magnificent indeed, lounging about on the fabric.

"This... You knew? Tina promised not to tell, I mean, but since you knew and you still came, does that mean...?" Newt was clutching the scarf to his chest, rambling, before he got interrupted. By an animalistic cry.

Actually, it was a very loud growl, and it drowned out the rest of the noise in the whole place. Percival's hair stood on end, and he was up in a flash.

To his surprise, Newt moved even faster than he did, darting through the space under the bar and onto the room beyond. Directly toward the source of the growl, Percival realized, cursing. The barkeep and at least four others had their wands out and aimed on him, intent on blocking his way. He narrowed his eyes, already calculating the fastest way he could break through.

By the time he was able to enter the back room, blood had been spilled on the floor. Luckily, it was not Newt's blood. Newt didn't have any, Percival ascertained, before turning his gaze over to the creature that Newt was tending to.

The creature... which was a wampus. _Mercy Lewis help him._ It had a big angry gash on its left front leg, the source of all the blood. Newt had his wand out, casting spell after spell confidently. He was kneeling on the floor beside the big, six-legged cat, paying no mind to the blood everywhere. Two others lay on the floor, but they were pale and breathing weakly. And there, a few feet away from Newt, was the wampus scarf that Percival had given him, bloodstained and ruined.

Percival picks it up, trying to wrap his mind around everything, already thinking about what to report--

Newt snatches the scarf out of his hand. "Just what I needed. Thank you, Percival."

Percival smiles weakly, watching Newt run his wand down the fabric, cutting it into even, thinner pieces. Newt then proceeds to wrap it around the real wampus' leg, which was still bleeding, but sluggishly now compared to before.

"I have everything else I need to treat her in my case. She's actually in a better condition than I expected, given what I heard..." Newt says, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand and leaving bloodstains on his skin.

It was obscene how much Percival wanted to lick him clean.

"And those two?" Percival asks, keeping his thoughts to himself and focusing on the more important things for the moment.

"Wampus cry is lethal if heard directly, I'm sure you've heard. I can't do anything for them. They'll be dead in three days," Newt says with a dark look. Percival can't blame him, but it still unsettles him, seeing Newt that way. _He doesn't really know Newt at all, hadn't known he could make that kind of expression._ The thought hits him with the force of a train. So he takes a deep breath and does what he can.

"Where's your case? No, given what you said earlier... It's with Goldstein, isn't it. Is she outside?"

Newt nods.

"Alright. I'll go call her, you keep an eye on the wampus, I assume you know how to avoid getting killed by her?" He asks briskly.

"Hey! Of course I do, and anyway, wampi are usually docile and they only cry when threatened--"

"Good. I'll deal with MACUSA after I send Goldstein in here."

He's nearly out the door when Newt calls him.

"Mr. Graves! Percival!"

Percival turns, facing the infuriating man he had fallen in love with, who had asked him on a not-date, who had apparently planned to bust a wampus poaching operation under the guise of a few drinks. Which they still haven't gotten.

"I apologize for... For all of this. Tina and Queenie, they were sure... Anyway. I'm sorry. I hope, if you can find the heart to forgive me, that we can go on a real date, to... To get to know each other more. I would like to get to know you better, to get closer to you. I can only hope you'll let me, after this. I'm not the best at social interactions. I know it was horrible, lying and using you like that. I let them convince me. So that I could have a reason to ask you out. Because I was too cowardly to do it otherwise."

_Mercy fucking Lewis, making Newt Scamander cry should be a criminal offense, never mind that it wasn't Percival's fault at all._

"Saturday next week. I'm choosing the place," he says softly, gently wiping Newts tears away with a thumb. He feels wampus blood seeping through his pants where he's kneeling on the flood, and he could care less. He couldn't have looked away from Newt if he tried, as Newt's expression shifted from remorse and devastion to relief and hope and quiet joy.

There's a shuffling motion beside him, and then the injured wampus is nuzzling her face in his stomach. He rubs her head tenderly, unable to hold back a small smile.

"Oh!"

Percival turns, and it's Goldstein, with Newt's case in one hand. She looks at Newt, then at Percival, at the wounded wampus, then back to Percival.

"Sir..."

"Percival. Apparently you and your sister know me well enough to promise Newt that your matchmaking plans will be successful, so first names are in order, I think."

"Ah, okay. Percival, then. And, is it? Successful?"

Percival raises an eyebrow, and Goldstein cringes, though Percival can see Newt nodding. He wants to kiss the troublesome man, but preferably without Goldstein to witness it.

"Have you called the rest of the Aurors, Goldstein?"

"It's Tina, and yes. When I saw people scurrying out in a hurry, I figured it was time. They're be here soon-ish," she said, just as there are several moderately loud cracks of Apparation on the front room.

Percival stood to take command of his Aurors, but not before whispering, "Saturday. Don't forget," to Newt, who blushed like a tomato. He'll forego bringing a scarf as a gift. Maybe a teapot instead, seeing as Brits loved tea and Newt was sure to appreciate it.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love hear what you think!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @pollethelazy


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